


I have a secret i want to tell you

by GingerHoran



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Niall's an angel, Requited Love, Triggers, Zayn's Self-Loathing, suicidal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:34:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerHoran/pseuds/GingerHoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's worthless and pitiful and doesn't deserve to be loved by an angel.<br/>He doesn't deserve the love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I have a secret i want to tell you

Breathings not easy anymore, but love is.

Converting oxygen to carbon through your lungs is hard, but love is easy, you fell easily, _too_ easily. You adore him, everything about him, and he causes your heart to thrum against your brittle ribcage as if its to break any second. 

You try to make yourself believe, believe that maybe he could love you, that maybe his heart is fastly pounding, and his hands are clammy when he's in your prescence, but your not worth it, you're not worth his love.

So, why would he love you?

You're insignificant amongst 7 billion people, like dust, ignored and wiped away with a swat of a hand in the sunlight, he can't love you , won't love you.

Every single emotion is heightened to the point where you can feel their fingertips pressing against your skin right through your bones, you see his eyes everywhere reflecting off of surfaces and staring brightly into your soul, your _fucking_ soul.

They come close, their eyes wide like oceans, their smile crooked and truthful. Your breathe hitches, and its suddenly hard, hard to do the one thing that’s comes easiest to you; breathing. Calloused fingers are tracing your collarbones lightly; the touch sending your nerves into frenzy with shivers throttling your bones, and everything’s on fire, everything is sensitive to their soft touch.

“Hi” they whisper, their voice airy and whispery and almost unheard.

You can’t reply, you don’t dare, because the essence of their beautiful voice is still floating in invisible molecules around you, and you’re afraid that your own speech will taint the accent with despair, because you’re not good enough, you’re _never_ good enough.

Golden strands are his hair, and it’s soft, and almost melts to your fingers but has enough substance that you actually feel every filament when you run your hands through it, and his hands intertwine with yours, ebony meeting ivory and he’s there, _actually_ there but you still can’t seem to get your lungs to co-operate.

You don’t know why he picked you, you don’t know why, because he fell from heaven the day he was born, his eyes like sapphires, and his skin the colour of snow with that hint of candyfloss pink, and he’s beautiful and you’re just you, with your raven hair, plain brown eyes and ebony coloured skin almost dirty, and worthless in comparison.

“Hey” you eventually reply and you think it’s almost too late and that he won’t even acknowledge your presence, but his eyes flash up immediately to gaze with intensity into yours, the blue sparkles with love, and he smiles with a little teeth and a little crinkle by his eye.

And your heart jumps into your throat. You’re silent.

Moments like this, when he approaches you, his pink tongue flicking against his cherry red ice lolly and his breathing even as he squeezes your hand every step you take, makes you believe that everything’s a dream because there is no way on earth that you could deserve such a lover, such a friend, such a person to even appreciate your meaningless existence.

You find it weird how every morning, he wakes up with a smile, and he greets you with a kiss and he splays his fingers against the inkings on your chest. He makes your favourite coffee, with that teaspoon of sugar and that splodging of cream, and he looks at you with such love, such unadulterated adoration that you think it’s a miracle.

Because who could love someone like you, someone as worthless and pitiful as you.

Insecurities are heightened when he’s around, and you hate yourself because he loves you, you hate him because he makes you feel like living, he makes the scars on your heart heal, and he kisses you with love and not lies.

_Why can’t you taste any lies on his tongue._

“Maybe it’s because he loves you,” Louis says to you one day, you’re at a bar in London drinking away the amazing day out you just had, because it’s not real, it’s just a dream that’s haunting you while you’re awake, he doesn’t actually love you, _he can’t._

You laugh, and it’s bitter and cold and sends shivers through your friends’ spine, taking a huge wincing sip of the liquor from the sticky glass, thumping the wooden table impatiently demanding another round from the bartender.

“He doesn’t love me, it’s all bullshit, and I don’t understand. Why can’t he just leave me?" You whisper almost to yourself and you don't want to hear Louis’ reply, but it happens anyway.

“Zayn, he loves you, I see it in his eyes…”

And you lose it, _fucking lose it,_ smashing the sticky glass of Jack Daniels against the counter with a piercing scream and throwing the barstool with a thump up against the wall, and everythings quiet in the bar, the bartender is flinching in the corner and Louis is wide eyed and frightened, but it doesn't make an ounce of difference to how you feel.

You stagger closer to the feathery haired boy, who flickers downwards with an alarmed face, and you whisper humourlessly into his ear.

" He doesn't  _fucking_  love me Lou, he  _never_ will"

-

You scream at the stars that night, because along with him, they're the only thing that glow in your presence because you've noticed how even the moon has lost its flicker of shine, and its a sad sight but the scars on your heart don't dig any deeper, you're numb.

" Cupid you're so stupid, you shot me with the wrong fucking arrow"

You sob, sob to the stars, hoping that they'll erase the tears.

They dont.

And they never will, because the tears keep flowing.

-

"I fucking love you Niall, I love you too much, but you dont love me and you never will, and I accept that. The pain is too much, and i'm already dead, so you'll only be loving an aching body, i have no soul, whats the point, because i'm worthless and pitiful and need relief, I need to leave"

"I'm not worth your love"

"Love someone else"

"Someone  who deserves your love"

"Because your love is special"

"I love you"

*Beep*

 Niall gazes down at the grave, teary eyed and fisted hands, its all his fault.

" I loved you, you fucking bastard" he chokes out bitterly.

And the white roses almost wilt in his hands with the intensity of his voice.

You're laughing in heaven though, laughing becuase those blues eyes  _did_ shine with love, and you weren't a fleck of dust in the sunlight but a dandelion showered with sunlight, water and love to grow amongst the clouds.

You died being loved.

And your angel will meet you soon.

Don't worry.

You're loved.

 


End file.
